The Appetence of the Dead
by Lady of Pride
Summary: There are hands roaming his sore body, simply holding him down or caressing him, mapping him out like something precious to behold, as another body moves frenetically above him, moaning, writhing, chasing those same constellations...


Title: **The Appetence of the Dead**

Fandom: Tanz der Vampire

Pairing: Herbert/Alfred, and minor Graf von Krolock/Alfred

Disclaimer: The musical belongs to the Germans and the original plot belongs to Roman Polanski. I own absolutely _nothing_.

Rating: Mature (Nc-17)

Warning: Well...smex, hypnotism, and angst (since Alfred obviously loves Sarah and doesn't want to sleep with anyone else). *****Non-con** too since this story slowly progressed down that long and winding road...

Starring: Kamarás Máté (Herbert) & Aris Sas (Alfred) – because Máté's _"Wenn Liebe in dir ist"_ rules my world...and you have to admit, it's rather hot watching a vampire Máté try to seduce a exceptionally nervous (and straight) young man...namely Aris.

Spoilers/Timeline: Takes place following the end of _"Wenn Liebe in dir ist"_ had Professor Abronsius not *ahem* _interjected_ when he did... (Follow the link to see Kamarás Máté and Aris Sas in the performance together, but make sure you watch it to the very end of the video... www . youtube . com / watch?v=lSChnQ2aDE8 – be prepared for the fangirls screaming in the background, though. They're pretty loud.)

Summary: There are hands roaming his sore body, simply holding him down or caressing him, mapping him out like something precious to behold, as another body moves frenetically above him, moaning, _writhing_, chasing those same constellations...the ones that remind him of Sarah and Anneliese.

* * *

"_Neeeeeeeeeeeein_!"

A puff of cold air against his neck, tactfully blowing a stray hair out of the way—vampires don't breathe, of course, but they can talk and sing, so Alfred really doesn't find it all that surprising that they can still utilize their lungs. It's fascinating actually, although Alfred's appreciation of this discovery is diminished by the fact that he's seconds away from being on the receiving end of those abdominally long fangs, the ones currently _pressing _into his delicate throat...

Oh dear God.

He's going to _die_.

"You're trembling!" Herbert exclaims, not even _trying_ to hide his jubilation. Alfred is far beyond perturbed at the moment—if he didn't already know death wasn't going to save him, he would've welcomed it, pain be-damned.

"I never tremble!" he retorts, purely on impulse—and then, before Herbert has the chance to mistake this as an invitation to continue, he adds, "Please, just let me go. I taste awful—I'm sure!"

"Oh, I highly doubt that..." Herbert murmurs gently, still straddling his waist, holding dear Alfred's arms apart. The vampire leans up a bit to look him in the eye, _shifting_ so that Alfred can _really_ feel the pressure on his hips...and then he smiles. "Tell me you love me, Alfred, and I promise not to take a _nip_."

Alfred is flabbergasted. "I—what? ...You can't be serious."

Herbert just goes on smiling, letting Alfred get a good, hard look at that toothy smile before shaking his head in mock solemnity. "I'm afraid not."

"But—but I love _Sarah_!"

Herbert arches his eyebrow so high Alfred is surprised by the honest emotion. "But you already know she belongs to father—_who_, by the way, has given you to _me_. Let's not forget that, shall we?"

"But I don't even _like_ men!"

"Not a problem," he replies, almost flippantly. "Most gentlemen aren't interested in that sort of thing until they've given it a whirl."

Alfred chokes on thin air.

"Oh, don't do that, Alfred. Come now—I'll show you. Then you'll see..."

"_Nein_!" he cries. "_I don't want to_!"

Herbert '_tut-'_s at him as though Alfred's acting like a petulant child, and then lifts himself up onto his knees, off Alfred's waist, so that he can pull them both to their feet. Wrists still secured in Herbert's grip, Alfred digs his heels into the floor when he realizes that the man's destination is the bed.

"_Please_, let me go! This isn't funny!"

"Honestly, Alfred, it's rather quite enjoyable. I can make you feel simply _marvellous_!"

"I think I feel marvellous enough in my own bed, _thank you_."

"Is that an invitation?" Herbert murmurs coyly. "Because if it is, I think it's only fair to tell you that _this_ is going to be your new bed after tonight."

"Nein, _please_—"

"So polite," he sighs casually, yanking Alfred forward in the process. He takes them into a spin and twirls Alfred mercilessly until he's clutching Herbert in a vain attempt to stay standing, dancing them into madness, humming along the way, as the last of Alfred's courage seeps out into the cold.

After what feels like an eternity, Herbert gradually slows to a halt, humming gently, to deposit Alfred on the edge of the bed. It takes Alfred's head a moment to clear before he realizes Herbert is looming over him now, leaning in, pushing his shoulders firmly until his back hits the mattress, _and then_—!

Alfred's next words are muffled by the kiss; cold, soft lips pressed decisively against his timid mouth, drinking up his cries for help. He can feel the strength draining from his limbs as a sense of frailty settles in the marrow of his bones. This is it, he figures. Herbert is going to...going to _take_ him.

Alfred begins to thrash in earnest.

"Shh, liebling. _Shhh_... Would you prefer it if I enthralled you?"

"_Professor Abronsius_!" he hollers, "_Professor Abronsius, help! I'm being—_"

"Oh, _hush_!" Herbert snaps as he drops his full weight onto the squirming body beneath him, manoeuvring himself into a better position before Alfred has a chance wriggle off the bed. "There's no need for that! I put him under a trance a while ago. Father said I could."

"_Professor_—"

"_Really_?" Herbert huffs, but by then he's locked gazes with Alfred...and suddenly the world isn't swimming anymore.

...He can't figure out for the life of him why he was screaming only a moment ago. He's in a rowboat out on the lake with his father, watching the water ripple as the man takes another powerful stroke. The sun glances off the surface and dances against his face, warm and soothing, a reminder of his childhood, of the days when he was happy and carefree, no vampires to worry about...

He's bare from the waist up before he's able to reunite his consciousness with the rest of his body, but already Herbert is in the same state of undress and working on the fastening of Alfred's trousers as he starts humming that infernal tune again.

"_Nein_!" Alfred shouts—and he doesn't know how he can make that word any clearer, he's said it at least four or five times already this evening. "Why can't you understand—I don't want to do this!"

"I think that's obvious, Alfred, but I also happen to know that your opinion matters little until you've given it a try. Who's to say you won't like it?"

"_I'm_ saying I won't like it!"

"Which brings us back to my point—now hold still, mon cheri," Herbert sighs, catching Alfred's wrists as he tries to wrestle his way to freedom. "I have to be honest with you, this first part is going to be a bit painful and I don't imagine you want to be cognisant for that."

"_Professor Abronsius!"_

"You're incorrigible," Herbert mutters, though it only sounds half-hearted. "But if this is any indication of your usual persistence, I can only imagine how insatiable you be once you get the hang of it."

"_Nein_..." he breathes miserably; pathetically. The fight is starting to die in him. "There _has_ to be something else you'd much rather have. You can't possibly want an unwilling partner...do you?"

Herbert smiles coyly. "For what, precisely?"

"For..._bed_?"

"For _'bed'_, Alfred? _Really_," Herbert ducks his head down into the crook of Alfred's neck, tongue tickling the dip of his collarbone as he trails it up, up, _up_ to the delicate line of his jaw. And then he brushes his mouth behind Alfred's ear to take a nibble the, to worry the skin gently between blunter teeth. "Your innocence is intoxicating, liebling. Unsullied. Unspoiled. _Unmarred_... You're truly ravishing, Alfred."

The words, his mouth—both send an involuntary shiver down Alfred's spine. He trembles as the vampire continues his ministrations, gripping Herbert's forearms tightly when his host begins to trail his hands up along his sides. So solid and cold, like a statue come to life. Alfred feels as though his soul is vibrating through his skin.

"_Alfred_," Herbert whispers against his ear, practically pleading as Alfred's heart begins its frantic cadence beneath his breast. "_Please, tell me you love me._"

Alfred opens his mouth—to say _what_ he isn't sure, but his tongue is too heavy to form a coherent word and his saliva is thick like molasses, as though he's trying to speak through syrup. In the end, nothing comes of it, and Alfred continues to quiver beneath this horror, paralyzed with fear, praying that it's all just a dream.

Herbert's ponytail brushes against his cheek as the vampire pushes himself up to gaze into his eyes. Alfred senses his consciousness fading again and is only vaguely aware of Herbert's lips pressing against his own as a cold tongue slips between his teeth, exploring his mouth, tilting his head _just so_ for a better angle...

Suddenly, he's reminded of Anneliese—blonde curls, blue eyes, and a cute, button nose. His childhood friend and sweetheart. Only five years old, together almost every hour of the day, playing in the field or listening to his grandfather's fairytales—fables of witches and demons, and the princesses that had to be saved from them; eating sweets whenever they could find them; swimming in the lake when the afternoon heat was too much to bear... cold hands on his thighs, parting them decisively, although he has no recollection of this sensation...

He wanted to kiss her sobadly, although he hadn't known exactly why at the time, and he supposes it was for the best that he never did. It was only a matter of time before consumption corrupted his sweet Anneliese, her little body decaying long before its inevitable voyage to the grave. The memory brings with it his old heartache, Anneliese's pain—and a sharper pain blossoming somewhere between his legs. Like a strip of lightning racing along his spine, arching up and away but never quite escaping, a new pain now in his hips where someone's thumbs are hooked to hold him down—and he's crying aloud, head thrown back, nearly resting his crown against the pillow as he exposes his neck to the stars. Beautiful stars, a maze of constellations, like a fire in his veins, so warm and wonderful, he can hardly believe they're real. There are hands roaming his sore body, simply holding him down or caressing him, mapping him out like something precious to behold, as another body moves frenetically above him, moaning, _writhing_, chasing those same constellations...the ones that remind him of Sarah and Anneliese.

'_Careful, now, that you do not lose him to his madness...'_

The voice is so familiar...it stirs him from his trance; forces him to open his eyes. There is a third hand cradling the back of his head, its thumb gently stroking his sweat-slicked temple in this brief moment of clarity. Graf von Krolock, guiding his son, a witness of this rape—an _accomplice_ of this rape—and suddenly Alfred hates this creature more than he could possibly hate anyone else, dead or alive—more than the devil; more than the consumption that stole poor Anneliese.

But the feeling is fleeting and when Graf's unholy gaze falls on him Alfred begins to forget the hand beneath his head, and the eager one spreading his right thigh a little further. He feels the ever-familiar presence rocking into him as though it's the last thing they'll ever do, showing him how to kiss the sun before he throws him headfirst into that wicked fire. He's running, _falling_, until the last of his consciousness focuses on the gentle prick of his neck where Herbert pierces him with his fangs. Not with the intention to kill, of course, but just enough to set the ball in motion.

Alfred knows it's over.

Herbert murmurs sweet nothings in his ear as he comes to his senses, sticky with sweat and bodily fluids. His heart is racing so fast he's still shaking as Herbert lies down beside him, gathering him into his arms, cradling Alfred's head against his cold shoulder as someone else pulls the covers over their bodies. Only the far candle by the window is still glowing, casting Mephistophelian shadows against the wall and canopy. They dance balefully as another dark figure drifts across the room to the door, ardent eyes boring into him as von Krolock takes one last look at them before disappearing altogether, a ghost in his own castle, always watching; always waiting...

Alfred clings tightly to Herbert as the man makes an honest attempt to calm him, still whispering softly, stroking his hair like a lover. And as Alfred eventually drifts to sleep, Herbert promises him eternity—love and eternity and everything in between.

Love and eternity and damnation, Alfred thinks. His weary mind wanders across the dreamscape to find Sarah, Graf von Krolock, and Anneliese—the shades of his new nightmare, wondering if he'll ever be happy again. And somewhere Professor Abronsius is still sleeping soundly; and somewhere Sarah is preparing herself for her funeral, so young and naive, and _stupid_, just like him...

'_Yes,_' he thinks. Just like him.

A.N: I apologize for the non-con—I didn't start this fic with smex in mind (honestly, I had planned to make it funny) but somehow it ended up that way, and, well...I'm sorry. Please feel free to rant at me about the plot (or grammar—either way, I'm fine with it). Also, if you speak German and I've misinterpreted 'liebling' or 'Nein' please, please, _please_ feel free to correct me. I'm really alright with it.

Thanks anyway for sticking with it to the very end.


End file.
